In Defense of Christmas
by c1araoswa1d
Summary: Tumblr Whouffle Prompt: Write Tasha Lem's voiceover from The Time of The Doctor when she tells us about the Doctor in battle on Trenzalore but instead, write it as if Clara stayed on Trenzalore and protected it with him.


_Attention. Attention all Chapels and Choirs of the Papal Mainframe. The siege of Trenzalore is now begun. There will now be an unscheduled faith change. From this moment on, I dedicate this church to one cause. Silence. The Doctor will not speak his name, and war will not begin. Silence will fall!_

The announcement rang over the town of Christmas as the Doctor stood in the bell tower and he lowered his head in a sort of defeat – he knew leaving wasn't an option, but he knew staying would be the most difficult decision of his life and for a moment he felt frozen to the spot, unable to completely comprehend his choice. Until a warm set of fingers slipped into his, Clara's palm grasping tightly to his hand as she waited for him to meet her gaze, a ready nod of her head and a simple smile telling him all he needed to know: he wasn't alone.

"We'll fight, as long and as hard as we need to," she began before adding, "Until we find another way."

With a small laugh, he reached out to tap her nose lightly, as he told her, "Always another way."

"There has to be," she assured. "I won't let you get stuck here."

Sighing, the Doctor looked out over the town and lamented, "Everyone gets stuck somewhere, Clara."

Leaning into him, she admitted boldly, "I don't feel stuck at all."

The Doctor turned and frowned, "Clara," he sighed, "Clara, _your family_ – all waiting for you back at the flat with no turkey, expecting you to pop back in…"

But she shook her head and then smiled down at the town, "Got my family," she met his curious look as she shrugged and nudged him, "All the family I need, right here with me."

He turned and leaned his back against the ledge, reaching out for her other hand before whispering, "Clara, you'll die here, waiting out this war."

"Well, you once told me everyone has a tomb, _somewhere_ out there – this is as good a place as any."

Slipping his hand into his pocket, he removed a device and he held it roughly, fingers shaking slightly as he lifted it to show her, admitting, "This will take you home." The Doctor pressed it into her right hand, closing her fingers around it and feeling his hearts breaking as he looked up into her eyes with a nod to repeat, "Clara, this will take you home."

Once his hands had fallen away, Clara looked down at it, silver with yellow patterns traced into the casing and she nodded firmly before raising her head to look at the Doctor, watching the plea in his eyes before tossing it over the edge of the tower as she stared at him in defiance. "If Christmas is your home, then Christmas is my home."

He laughed, "You hate Christmas."

"But, I love you," she replied quietly, smile tugging her lips as she exhaled in relief at having confessed the words aloud. Then she turned away, eyes closing to continue, "And I'm your friend, a friend who was also once told that I don't run out on the people I care about and I don't care if I'm buried here, Doctor – I won't let you get stuck here alone."

Standing, he enveloped her in a hug, one that felt firmer, felt fuller, felt easier than any of their previous and he wondered if maybe the truth field hadn't only worked on their words, but also their hearts because the longer he held her, the longer he wanted to hold her. The Doctor stroked a hand through her hair before pulling her back, thumb slowly trailing over her ear and he smiled, nodding slowly, "Then alone I'll never be."

_In the time that followed, the Papal Mainframe strove to maintain the peace between the Doctor and his ever faithful companion, and his enemies._

They watched from the porch of the tower as the Sontaran vehicle was destroyed, Clara wincing slightly, and the Doctor knew she was thinking about Strax. He lifted an arm to drape over her shoulder and grinned as she nuzzled into him, knitting needles held still in front of her, length of what would eventually be a cream colored blanket hanging to her waist. He couldn't believe it'd been only two years. Two years they'd spent gaining the trust of the townspeople, integrating themselves into their lives.

Making a home.

She made soufflés. He laughed the night she'd come running into the bedroom, shocked look on her face as she held the ramekin in red mittens and announced, "_It lived_!" Clara made soufflés for the townsfolk; she watched the children while their parents worked, and she taught them; she made every child feel special and loved and, the Doctor sighed, she made them a second home in theirs. He fixed the toys, and the machinery, and enjoyed putting on parties and games, and together they'd become the pair of misfits adopted by a town under siege.

A town they defended daily, even when there weren't threats.

One day, the Doctor knew, one day very soon, they would need the protection of the townsfolk. And as Clara aged, moreso than himself, she would need them to tend to her. His fingers worked through her hair absently and she offered a small laugh, sighing as the townspeople began working to put out the fire while salvaging what they could of the parts. The Doctor might need the parts, they knew.

"Ah, that's a good one," Clara muttered and she clasped the needles and yarn into one hand so her other could reach for his, bringing it to her rounded belly to press into her flesh. "Just wait," she assured, and he furrowed his brow in concentration, fingers splayed out over her until he felt the thump against the inside of his knuckles and he released a laugh.

_As the days passed, and the years, the Doctor stayed true to his word. On the fields of Trenzalore, he stood with his family as protector both of his own people and his new home._

The boy standing in the snow was no older than ten and he whistled _Silent Night_ as he waited for the Weeping Angel in the forest to emerge on a long blink of his green eyes, giving his top hat a light tap of a slender finger before grinning. He approached it, careful to keep watch as it stood with its arms held out at either side, just in front of its stone wings and just as he reached to touch it, he heard a voice call his name angrily, but he didn't turn. He knew the danger in turning.

"I've got the mirror," came the female voice, huffed in frustration, "You can come back now, Ollie."

Lifting his chin, a chin that stood out unfairly and oft times made him the butt of jokes on the school playground, the boy turned and gave the girl a tight lipped frown before gesturing at her and scoffing, "You, you always ruin it. I had her; I would have had her – would have made dad proud!"

The girl with the chestnut hair that streamed over her shoulders twisted her lips in annoyance, showing off a deep dimple and a thick raised eyebrow, "What would you have done? Stared her to death?"

"Had a plan!"

"You did not – thought you'd be spry, just like dad."

His frown turned into a grimace of rage as he hunched slightly and stomped towards her, standing at her height despite her being three years older, "And you, Sarah, always being clever… _just like mum_."

"OI! YOU TWO!" The Doctor hissed, moving towards them and jerking back slightly at the sight of the Angel standing before the tall mirror. "You get back to the house; your mother is furious, and you know how she is when she's furious – all shouts and stares and Matty don't think I don't know you're hiding behind that barrel," he turned, looking to the six year old who emerged with a forefinger tucked into his lip and shakily made his way to the Doctor, who touched his chin before sighing and lifting him up into his arms.

"Daddy, mummy and Davy aren't feeling well – she told me to get you," he mumbled softly, dark eyes mostly hidden behind a thick crop of his mother's hair.

With a slow knowing nod, the Doctor hugged the boy in an apology and looked to Ollie and Sarah, raising a hand swiftly and then pointing it back in the direction of the bell tower before glancing at the Weeping Angel frozen behind them. He gave it a small smile and a look towards Sarah, who was reaching to take her younger brother's hand. Always hold hands; they'd told them – they'd told all the children in the town of Christmas – it's what they were meant to do.

Now he reached up to take the small hand laid gently upon the thick material of his coat, feeling the warmth of the skin through his knitted brown mittens and he reached up to feel the boy's forehead. Sighing as he touched his own head to his son's. "Oh, Matty," he whispered.

By week's end the Doctor was taking a sledge hammer to an army of angels, howling with rage as they splintered apart and littered into the snow; faces warped in confusion and horror and finding, in every turn, a new towns member with a new mirror, all wiping away at tears.

And inside of the Tardis, Clara laid her youngest son, barely breathing, down before the console and she waited, hands clasped at her mouth, breathing a silent prayer. _Be your father's son. Please be your father's son_. Ollie gripped her left side, turning his head away from the sight of his younger brother's gasps; Sarah stared boldly ahead, not daring to look at her mother's face; Matty shifted into his sister's skirt as Clara shook her head and approached the boy.

"_Please, baby_," she begged, hand coming up to stroke at his hair, and as her fingers lifted away, his skin glowed softly just underneath. When the blast of regeneration energy changed him – bleaching his hair a soft ginger and flattening his small upturned nose, Clara was thrown back with a thankful laugh and an odd jolt of warmth in her heart that spread through her, striking away the ailment threatening her own life.

_Over the years, his foes would find new, stranger ways to enter the town called Christmas, but they found that the town had new champions in all corners._

From the bell tower, the Doctor could see each of his children's houses, at the edges of Christmas, each the beginnings of a new town. A prosperity of life Christmas might not have seen if they hadn't stayed. He propped Handles up on the edge to look over it all, but he knew the hunk of metal couldn't appreciate what he saw – what he'd always seen: the beauty of the universe, despite the flaws and the danger and the devil that lived to be fought or given into inside each living soul.

"All still up there, trying to find a new way in."

The metal head made a chirping sound and he frowned. He seemed to forget Oliver had taken it apart; Sarah had dropped it from the bell tower; Matt had used it as a soccer ball; Dave took parts to rebuild a wooden Cyberman into a working defense system.

"Don't worry," Clara called lightly from behind him, "I'm better than a talking head any day."

She came to stand at his side as he chuckled and gripped the top handle of the cyber head with one hand while wrapping his arm around her with the other. "Wooden Cybermen," he laughed, glancing down at the smirk she was giving him, "Never thought they'd upgrade to wood."

"Dave's having fun with that – says he almost patched into the cyber network yesterday," Clara sighed happily, "If he can get through, he might be able to either control an entire cyber army, or manage to blow them all up."

With a shake of his head, the Doctor kissed her temple and replied sadly, "At this point, I don't know which I'd prefer and the fact that I'd prefer either one is a testament to what all of this means."

"Use the Cybermen for war against our enemies," Clara offered, "Or destroy the Cybermen knowing they were once living beings, stolen from their bodies."

He set Handles aside and shifted to look at her, his hands at either side of her face as he brushed away tears, running his thumbs over her cheeks. She'd aged and as much as he loved her – as much as he'd cherished every day of the last twenty seven years, there were the wrinkles that edged her eyes and fanned out from her smile, and the silver strands in her hair. He leaned down to kiss her, feeling the dizzying swell of love take his breath away as she grinned into his lips and pulled back.

"You're thinking about sending me back again, aren't you?"

"Yes," he nodded. "You could live out your life, Clara."

"Oliver and his wife are expecting again," she nodded as he turned to look to the north, at the cottage with the billow of smoke and the yellow glow coming from the windows. He'd taken to making puppets and putting on shows, just as the Doctor had done for years. "How many times do I have to tell you – this is my life."

She was laughing when he turned back, and then he nodded, looking to the east to where Sarah was enjoying a quiet night with her own husband, an odd man she'd met in the market who'd offered her work on his farm… work that turned into a relationship and an incredibly amount of strawberries – newly wed only days before, and he frowned at the thought of what was happening in that house. He looked to the south and rubbed a hand over his face because he knew Matt was too involved with his writing to look for a girl, or a young man.

Clara often questioned which he preferred and wished he would find someone soon.

And in the South, in a small shack of a home, their youngest with the unfathomable mane of red hair the Doctor often lamented about – more, Clara knew, out of jealousy than the state of his hair – had decided he was going to build another Tardis. He was the one who wanted to escape; the boy who wanted to run away. The Doctor knew one day, one day sooner than anyone realized, Dave probably would. He'd land on Earth and he'd tell a man what happened to his daughter and he'd explain to that man that he was his grandson. And then he would jettison back out into the stars.

So much his father's son.

_With every victory, the town celebrated. The Doctor and Clara never forgot their time before Christmas; they never allowed each other to because, in time, those memories brought Christmas salvation. And the people of the town came to love the family who stayed for Christmas._

"But the energy of an exploding Tardis could take out more than just the ships circling the planet," Dave pointed out, standing in a corner of the room with his hands planted at his sides. He seemed to be mulling it over though, calculating the risks and trying to factor in all variables.

Just as Oliver was doing a few feet away, one arm crossed over his chest, the other's elbow planted in it while his thumb sat between his teeth. "But we're not talking about dad's Tardis, Dave; it's your Tardis – half built and nowhere near full power."

"Dave," Sarah called meekly, hands atop her growing stomach, face pinched together in concentration as she finished, "Just how powerful is your Tardis?"

Matt snorted, "I'm sure we could give Christmas a good dusting of snow with the explosion."

The firey haired man lunged at him, but stopped short, hands grasped at his sides, turning away quickly before telling his father, "I'm not concerned with how powerful it is – I'm concerned with how powerful it is!"

"Quite the same thing," the Doctor replied, scratching at the back of his neck before smiling up at him, "Ah, but you mean you're not concerned with whether it's powerful enough to take the ships, nor are you concerned that it could wipe out the universe – you're concerned the kickback will knock Trenzalore off its axis thereby killing all of its inhabitants."

"Also a bit concerned with telling your Gallifreyan High Council it's safe to come through the rift and having _its_ gravitational pull yank Trenzalore…" Dave began.

Clara stood and looked over her children before sighing towards the Doctor's aging face. She grinned – he had some measure of control over how quickly he physically aged and he'd decided to match her. Decided, she knew, to wind down his life for her. "The other option is this war," she told them all, "This everlasting war that will threaten all of you; threaten all of your children; your grandchildren; your great grandchildren…"

They all looked to her as she went to the Doctor and reached out for his hands, giving him a small nod of her head as he looked up and asked, "What would you do, Clara?"

"Save everyone."

"How do we save everyone?" He questioned. "It could take years to find out whether this plan would actually work; it could take…"

She nodded again, "If it takes years and I'm no longer here, at least you'll have saved my children."

There was a sudden palpable tension in the room. They all knew their mother was a human; they all knew that while they'd live out their regenerations – the number of which they'd get, because they were half human, they never wanted to question – she'd be gone. But they never wanted to think about it. Clara knew, in a way, they'd all inherited their father's hatred of endings and she knew they'd all have to face hers one day. She'd accepted that the day she chose to stay on Trenzalore and she'd accepted it over and over again as each tiny face greeted her with a shaky cry from the womb.

"Save the children of Trenzalore, Doctor," she whispered.

And they put their six minds to it that night, dedicated to sending out an explosion of energy from a half built Tardis that wouldn't reverberate back towards Trenzalore. On the day they stood together, Clara entertaining the four smallest members of their family with songs and roasted marshmallows, they stood confident with the town of Christmas as they pushed the button that sent an odd contraption into the sky and lit it on fire.

Tasha Lem had been warned to clear the air and she'd warned in return that some ships had followed her; some ships would return, but the Doctor smiled as he made his way down to the basement of the bell tower with Clara, hands clasped together as their family celebrated topside with the town that had taken them in as their own. He stepped to the crack in the wall, brilliantly illuminating them as the question whispered out over and over and over.

"No worries, Tash," he'd laughed, "Much love is coming from the boys on Gallifrey."

He'd moved to the crack and placed a hand above it as Clara held his other tightly in hers and with a small nod to Clara, he spoke his name clearly into the light.


End file.
